


Boxing Days

by theianitor



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Boxers, Boxing, Drinking, Gambling, M/M, Mentions others, Restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theianitor/pseuds/theianitor
Summary: Mark's life is in a rut. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. But when Seb, one of the delivery boys at the pizzeria, can't work, Mark steps in for him... and finds something that just might be able to knock the rut out.





	1. Chapter 1 - Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. :)  
> This was quite a slog, but it feels good to be finished. I'm grateful for the long project, it's been an experience. Much love to Flirt for setting it up! <3

_Thursday_

A normal weeknight meant Minardi was fairly quiet. A few tables out front were taken and there were a couple of deliveries, but with two guys behind the counter and two running deliveries, they had things well under control. Mark slipped another pizza out of the oven and into a box, tore the ticket off the holder, and stuck it in the lid of the top box in a stack of four.

“Kev!” He called, and one of the two runners poked his head in. “Number seven’s ready to go.”

Kevin nodded, checking the ticket as he left the room. He was a good kid and had learned the ropes quickly. The customers liked him and when he was waiting tables he got pretty good tips; Jarno, the owner, seemed to have a knack for knowing who would do well in the front of the house and who was better kept in the back.

Mark was in the back. He’d started working at Minardi while he’d been at university to help make ends meet, and when the schedule hadn’t held up he’d dropped out of school, but stayed at the pizzeria. There had been a fair bit of turnover over the years, but that was the nature of the restaurant business. Mark had stayed on and most nights he manned the kitchen with Jarno. Tonight they were joined by Sebastian, another runner, who was spending the time between deliveries helping with prep for the following day.

 

The night dragged on and soon enough Mark and Jarno had the last order in the oven. Mark wiped the counter down while they waited for the pizzas to cook. Sebastian was still prepping toppings for the following day, but he kept checking what time it was, and he was working slowly, like he was waiting for something.

Then Mark remembered that it was Thursday. On Thursdays Seb would take a regular’s delivery as his last run of the day and head home right after. It was always a pretty big order, and they tipped well so he could see why Seb was possessive about it, but since Seb had Jarno’s blessing to take the order in his own car he was never there to help close up on Thursdays despite always being scheduled for the last shift.

“Stop clockwatching,” Mark said teasingly. Seb was a good kid, efficient and usually pretty fast, but tonight he was dragging his feet.

“I’m not clock watching!” Seb said, looking at the time again. Mark laughed and Jarno snickered.

The phone rang, and out of habit Mark stayed quiet and listened to Jarno taking an order. As Jarno took the address, Mark realized Sebastian had stopped chopping and was listening in too. When Jarno repeated the address, Seb smiled. It was a short little smile, like he couldn’t help it. Then he turned back to his prep and leisurely started putting away the plastic boxes. Glancing at the order, Mark recognized the address. It was the late Thursday regular. It irked him a little that Seb would get to skip off early, and that he was being slow on purpose behind him at the prep table, but Jarno was already rattling off which pizzas he wanted Mark to make and there was no time to complain.

 

Pizzeria Minardi was conveniently placed, near enough to the busy downtown area and a nice suburban neighborhood to gain business from both. Every evening there was a bit of a dinner rush, and weekends were usually busy. There were a lot of part-timers on rotation as delivery personnel and servers; Minardi hired from the nearby high school and university as well as taking in people from a troubled youths-program, and there was really only one rule: all the serving staff had to look presentable. Presentable, in the owner’s eyes, meant no visual tattoos among other things. Kevin, who sported tattoos going almost all the way up one of his arms and a big tattoo on his chest, was usually only allowed to work in long-sleeved shirts or sent to deliver only to the north side, the downtown area. Mark had always thought it was kind of an old-fashioned view, but he wasn’t one to argue. He needed the job, the staff was reasonably happy, and Minardi made a steady profit.

 

By the time Seb took the stack of boxes and disappeared out of the kitchen he was actually whistling to himself. Kevin came back from his delivery, the last few customers out front left, and Mark and Jarno cleaned the kitchen before wishing each other good night and going off in their separate directions. Mark drove north, keeping the radio low enough that the music held the silence off but didn’t enter his consciousness.

He parked the car and opened the door to the house carefully; he’d gotten yelled at by the elderly neighbors about being loud in the stairwell enough times already. The walls between the apartments weren’t the thickest and the elevator never worked, so once he’d gotten the door closed as quietly as possible he made his way up the stairs.

With the same care as downstairs he unlocked his own door and went inside, keeping to the left in the narrow hallway. On the right wall he had mounted two hooks for his bike despite not really having space to spare. It had been a long time since he’d been out on the bike. Mark kicked off his shoes and locked the door, leaving the lights off and heading for the kitchen.

Even the light from the fridge felt very bright in the otherwise dark apartment, but he could have found what he was looking for with his eyes closed. With one hand he grabbed one of the frozen meals out of the little freezer compartment, with the other he grabbed a beer from the row of bottles. He closed the fridge with his shoulder and, while the microwave started working on his dinner, he took a couple of long gulps of beer.

When the food was done he took it out to the living room and sat down, moving a mostly-empty beer bottle aside to make room for the new one. He turned the TV on and set to work forking the tasteless food into his mouth, pausing now and then to focus on the screen or to have a drink. The commercials came on. A ridiculously happy couple was enjoying a picnic under a ridiculously blue sky, all because they were using so-and-so toothpaste and had been pre-approved for a loan with such-and-such. Mark scoffed. Nobody had a life like that.

When he was done he leaned back on the couch, turning the TV down a bit. He sighed to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done any kind of proper cooking at home. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything but eat, sleep, and work. He started counting back the weeks.

The next morning Mark woke up with a crick in his neck and swore out loud as the pain shot down into his shoulder. The TV was still on and he was still wearing the clothes from the day before. He slouched off to get some clean clothes. There would just be time for a shower before he’d need to head out for work again.


	2. Chapter 2 - Thursday

_Thursday_

Mark unlocked the back door and went inside. The place smelled of pizza, fry-grease, and the stuff they used to clean the counters every night before closing. He started taking boxes out of the fridges to set up for the day, checking the schedule as he went. Sebastian and Stoffel were set to do tables and deliveries for the night. Stoffel was another uni-student, Kevin had recommended him and apart from being a little quiet, he was a good runner.

Two hours later Mark was all set up, Jarno and Stoffel had arrived, and the first orders had trickled in. Thursdays were never overly busy so Jarno didn’t seem too concerned about Seb being late.

An hour later Mark was covering a few of the tables out front, Stoffel was on another delivery and Jarno was visibly worried. He had tried calling Seb a few times but his phone seemed to be turned off.

“Mate, just call in Kev or someone,” Mark said as he plated another two pizzas and washed his hands before walking the plates out. He liked Jarno, but sometimes he could be kind of cheap; if he brought someone else in and Seb showed up, he’d have to send Seb or the other guy back home again – either way he’d end up paying for at least one double hour. Jarno chewed the inside of his cheek and looked at the clock.

Another hour had passed and Minardi was unusually busy. The night had reached its most hectic time before Jarno conceded and called Kevin in. By that time Mark was severely pissed off, both at having to run his ass off between the kitchen and the tables, but also at Seb for not answering his phone. Something must have happened, he figured. Seb was usually reliable, if sometimes a little late.

Not long after that Kevin rushed in through the door, already wearing his Minardi-shirt. Jarno took yet another call. While he could tell from the tone that it was something important, Mark didn’t have time to stop and listen in. Jarno soon came back to the kitchen with a defeated look on his face.

“Seb’s been in an accident.”

All activity stopped for a second. Everyone stared.

“No no, he’s fine,” Jarno hurried to add, catching up to what they were all thinking. “The police, they wanted him to say what happened, someone...” he mimed two cars with his hands, one hitting the other from behind.

“Somebody rear-ended him?” Kevin tried.

“Exactly,” Jarno said, pointing at Kevin like he always did when someone supplied the word or phrase he’d been looking for. “So he had to talk to police and then he had to go to the emergency room and there is a long wait.” He shrugged. “He will not be in tonight, but he will be fine.”

They all had a collective sigh of relief. Stoffel glanced at the clock and his eyes widened.

“I have to get going with this,” he said, waving a ticket as he hurried away.

 

With Kevin’s help they were soon up to speed, and by the end of the night the restaurant was back to a more typical Thursday pace. It was getting close to closing time when the phone rang and Jarno waved for Mark to take it.

“Pizzeria Minardi, hope you’re having a nice evening, may I take your order?” he said, feeling like a bit of an idiot. He hated the ‘standard message’ they all had to answer the phone with, and the customers didn’t really seem to care anyway. When Jarno wasn’t there he would sometimes cut it down to the basic who-and-what, skipping the pleasantries to save time. Nobody had ever complained.

“I want to order some pizza,” a flat voice said, and started ordering like he was reading off of a list. Mark took the order down and repeated it back, and got a short noise of confirmation in return. Then the voice, still just as flat, gave him the address. It was the late Thursday regular. Mark considered mentioning that Seb wouldn’t be available to deliver, but the guy had already hung up.

He put the order in and realized there was one good thing about this: if Seb could take this order and then fuck off home, so could he. Feeling a bit bolstered by getting home even a little bit early, Mark managed to get hold of both Stoffel and Kev to explain that he’d be taking this order. When he was on his way out he called to Jarno.

“I’m taking the regular and then I’m going to shoot off home, alright?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

 

Mark drove north and when he reached the city he started keeping an eye on the street signs, not quite trusting the GPS. There weren’t that many people out and when he ended up in a quiet area that seemed to be mostly flats, he checked the address again. Most of the windows were already dark, the buildings tall and ominous, the flickering lights of TVs in some of the apartments like glittering eyes in the night. Turning another corner he realized there was a smaller building in the middle of a lot right between the higher houses, and that this must be the place he was looking for.

It was a pub.

It looked closed.

The building must have been something else from the beginning, Mark thought, seeing as how the lot went all the way around it. Maybe it had been a fast food-place or a gas station or something, once upon a time. Now it was evidently a pub which had a sign above the door that simply said ‘pub’, but the whole place was as dark as the surrounding buildings and there wasn’t a sign of anyone inside. He slowly drove around the back and saw a few cars parked there, but maybe the people living nearby used the parking lot sometimes.

Just when he was about to check the address again light spilled out onto the parking lot. Someone had opened a door at basement level. Mark quickly rolled down the window.

“Oi, mate!” he called, and the silhouette startled. “Did you order pizza?”

“Eh... yes?”

He sounded quite hesitant but Mark parked sloppily and got out. There definitely wouldn’t be a tip for cold food, and he had already taken too much time in getting there.

“Sorry ‘bout the delay,” he said as he approached the door with the stack of boxes. “The place isn’t that easy to find and I didn’t get the instructions to deliver in the back.”

The young man at the door didn’t say anything, just looked at him. He was quite stocky and very pale, with a pink tinge in his cheeks like he had been very warm and gone outside to cool off. Beads of sweat glittered in his short, very blond hair.

“So... do I get money from you or are you going to help me in?” Mark said when he hadn’t moved for a second.

“Oh! Eh... no, come inside. Kimi’s got the money.”

He held the door open and then passed Mark to lead him down a little hall. There were three doors, one on either side and one straight ahead. The blond man opened the door straight ahead and Mark was met by a gust of warm air that smelled a bit like a gym. When he stepped inside it became instantly clear why.

It wasn’t a gym, perhaps, but giving the room a quick once-over he spotted some exercise equipment and weights in the corner. In the middle of the room however, there was a slightly raised boxing ring, complete with ropes and everything. There were maybe a dozen guys in there and two men in shorts, gloves and helmets were circling each other in the ring.

 

Mark almost forgot to follow the blond guy, and nearly lost his hold on the pizzas. He’d had no idea there was a boxing club here. When he’d first arrived he’d looked up sports clubs; he’d boxed in high school and figured it’d be good to keep it up at University too, if at all possible. He hadn’t found anywhere that didn’t charge an outrageous amount of money, or where the idea of boxing was little more than “sparring with a PT”. That hadn’t been what he’d been after, and then he hadn’t been able to afford it anyway, so he had kind of given up the search. This looked very much like an actual fight.

“Kimi!” the blond man called, and another pale blond guy, slightly older than the first, looked up from beside the ring. He looked at the guy in front of Mark and then his eyes fell on Mark and his pizzas.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said. A few of the men closest to him looked away from the fight too now, noticing Mark in a way he was very sure wasn’t friendly.

“Didn’t you order pizza?” Mark said, trying to play it cool. The man in front of him was looking between him and the one he had called Kimi now, and he seemed to realize he’d done something wrong.

“What the fuck are you thinking with Valtteri?” Kimi said, switching to what Mark thought must be another language, his voice still as level but the words full of sharp edges as he seemingly gave the younger man a piece of his mind before turning back to Mark.

“Where’s Seb?”

“There was an accident, he’s fine but he’s not working tonight.”

The man looked at him coldly.

“Fine,” he finally said, going back to the table next to the ring and taking a handful of bills out of a metal box. “Here. Go.”

He shoved the money into Valtteri’s hand and pushed his shoulder back towards the door. Another guy, who was wearing shorts like the fighters but had a hoodie on, took the pizza boxes out of Mark’s hands. As Valtteri started to lead him to the door, this time with a hand on his shoulder, a few of the men around the ring were watching them and one of them actually followed them towards the door.

“Maybe you’d do best to not tell anybody about this,” he said when they reached the door. Valtteri opened the door but the other man stayed behind them. He was about as tall as Mark and had a decidedly Scottish accent. He looked stern.

“Paul...” Valtteri started, but the other man held up a hand to silence him.

“No, I’m fucking serious. You keep your mouth shut.”

“Alright mate, no need to get testy,” Mark said. He was glad that his voice was holding steady and hoped neither of the two noticed the slight wobble of his hand when he took his money. He got back in the car and drove off, both Paul and Valtteri looking after him as if to make sure he left. Three blocks away he turned in between two houses and stopped, but left the car idling. They had given him a decent tip but Mark wasn’t sure that had been deliberate. His hands were still a bit unsteady, but he still felt a strange sense of excitement.

As he was making his way back home, Mark realized that these people had been expecting Sebastian. But Seb certainly didn’t seem the type to be interested a boxing club – he was kind of skinny and didn’t look like he worked out what so ever, and he was one of the few long-time staffers who still brought pizza home regularly.

The little mystery kept Mark occupied as he heated up dinner. He opted for a glass of water and ignored the TV, getting up as soon as he was done eating to try to get an early night for once. He couldn’t figure out how, but he knew he wanted to get back in there.


	3. Chapter 3 - Thursday

_Thursday_

Minardi was pretty slow that Thursday, so slow that Jarno left the kitchen in Mark’s capable hands and took over for one of the runners himself. Mark didn’t know which was worse; hectic nights where you hardly had time to think or quiet nights where everything including your thoughts went by slow as molasses. There was very little in-between, regardless of which he might prefer. Seb had been acting suspicious around Mark all week, but he didn’t seem keen to talk about it. Jarno had asked, the previous Friday, if the delivery had gone well. Mark said it had, Jarno had given him a _look_ , Mark had asked what he wanted to know, and he’d never really gotten an answer. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said Jarno knew something was up with Sebastian’s late Thursday regular.

Mark still hadn’t figured out what someone like Sebastian might be doing at a boxing club, and part of him thought maybe the best approach would be to just ask. Thinking better of it, he stuck to doing his job. Seb didn’t say anything either but kept looking at Mark in a weird way, and when the Thursday regular called, he snapped up the ticket and left as soon as the order was done. Mark watched him go. He had a plan.

 

As the end of the night rolled around, Mark told Jarno he could handle closing up by himself. Doing a cursory wipe-down of the tables and putting the chairs up, he packed away all the perishables quickly and went out to his hanger in the changing room. He’d saved his tips throughout the week and while it wasn’t much money, it was a decent wad of bills. If someone only looked quickly, it would certainly look like more than it was.

He changed out of his Minardi shirt and drove back towards the bar on the north side. His heart was in his throat as he rounded the last corner. The bar looked closed, just like the week before, and the neighborhood was just as quiet.

But Sebastian’s car was parked out back.

Now all Mark needed was a little bit of luck. He took a few deep breaths before stepping out of the car and making his way down the stairs to the door in the back.

A few seconds after he had knocked, someone came to open it. Mark kept his fingers crossed inside his pocket. Relief stole over him when he saw a young man he’d never seen before peering up at him.

“Thanks mate, I was freezing my arse off,” Mark said, smiling confidently and pulling the door open more widely. True, it was a little cold since he’d left his jacket in the car, but it was mostly an excuse. “Is Seb in yet?”

“Eh... yeah...” the man said, still hesitantly. He let Mark into the hallway and the door closed behind them. It felt like a victory. He was in.

“Haven’t seen you around before,” Mark said daringly, holding out his hand. “Mark.”

“Sergio,” he replied, shaking his hand. He looked at Mark a little longer but then seemed to decide it was just someone he didn’t know. To really drive it home, Mark passed him in the hallway and walked as calmly as he could towards the door straight ahead. He hoped Sergio couldn’t see his legs shaking.

This time the gust of warmer air from inside the room felt good. Doing his best to walk calmly and not look too much like he was trying to take it all in, Mark sauntered off to the left side of the room; last time he had been in here, the one called Kimi, who seemed to be in charge, had been on the right side of the ring. The longer he could stay out of the way of those guys, the bigger the chance that he could stay.

Like last time, there were two men in the ring and most of the eyes in the room were on them. It wasn’t the same two guys he had briefly seen fighting before, but with a jolt he realized one of them was the younger blond who had opened the door last time. Valerie, or whatever they had said his name was. It was the one name he hadn’t been able to recall afterwards, and he’d hoped he could sneak by with the ones he had. The other guy was a bit more slim and a lot more tan.

Valerie and the other guy were both wearing padded helmets and proper gloves, and now that he saw it up close Mark thought the ring might just be regulation size. Both of the fighters were wearing sneakers though, so the fight was, as he’d first figured, very much semi-professional. They both moved sort of like boxers however, keeping their guards up and dancing to avoid blows. They looked like they were fairly evenly matched, but Valerie was definitely the broader of the two; if he’d get a good couple of hits in, the other guy would be out for sure.

There were more people in the room this time than last week. On the right hand side of the ring, by a little table, he saw Kimi, keeping a close eye on the fighters and sipping from a bottle of beer now and then. Some of the guys around the ring were cheering the fighters on but the atmosphere wasn’t rowdy. The Scotsman, Paul, was nowhere to be seen. Over by the table but a little ways away from Kimi, Mark spotted Sebastian. He wasn’t looking at the fight but talking to a guy in black shorts who was holding a helmet. Whatever Sebastian was saying, the guy looked mildly interested and somewhat amused.

The noise in the room went up slightly. Valerie had managed to get his opponent to back up against the ropes and was giving him a few good body blows. The fight would be over any second, Mark thought. Then the other guy pulled his fist back and, with his eyes still closed, he swung out, hitting Valerie square in the face with what could only be described as a very lucky shot. Valerie spun around and fell forward, hitting the mat.

A little bell sounded. Mark applauded, laughing a little. He wasn’t alone; the result was obviously quite unexpected, there were cheers and jeers among the applause. While the other guy helped Valerie back up on his feet, Mark looked over to see if Kimi was the one who would call up the next set of fighters. Kimi was looking at something on his table and talking to Sebastian, who was consulting a sheet of paper and counting out a few bills from a much larger roll of money. He gave some to the darker guy who had been fighting Valerie, and then started looking down the list again, making a few notes. Then he looked up, and Mark could almost feel a chill blowing through the room the moment his and Sebastian’s eyes met.

 

He’d been expecting it, had known it was coming. At some time during the night he was sure that if he _did_ get in, he’d have to face Seb. Sebastian stared at him, and the blond next to him looked over too, probably wondering what he was staring at. He said something, but Seb didn’t answer. Letting go of the fighter’s arm and saying a few quick words to Kimi, he made his way over.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” he hissed, crowding in close to Mark and looking around like he was afraid of being overheard.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Mark said, trying to stay calm and not draw attention to them. Valerie and the other guy got out of the ring and had a few words with Kimi before Kimi waved up the guy who had met Mark in the door, Sergio, and the blond guy Sebastian had been talking to. They took their corners and waited for the bell.

“How the fuck did you get in? Were you here last week? What do you think you’re _doing_ here?” Seb was keeping his teeth clenched together so hard it was hard to hear what he was saying.

“I’m just watching the fights, Seb.”

The bell rang and the doorman, Sergio, flew forward, pressing for an early advantage which the guy in the black shorts slipped away from with no trouble at all.

“Watching the fights,” Seb sneered. “I could get them to throw you out like _that_.” He snapped his fingers.

“Does Jarno know you’re part of this little thing then? Drinking and gambling and all that, might get you fired you know.” He had no intention of telling Jarno or causing trouble for Sebastian, but if it took shaking him up a bit to get to stay, then that was what he would do. He crossed his arms and looked down at Seb, who was staring back at him with anger written all over his face.

“And you would be just as fired if I told on you,” he said.

“You’re kidding me mate.” Mark afforded himself an incredulous chuckle. “I’ve been here half a time, by the looks of things you’re something of a regular. If anything we’d both be in trouble, so how about we both keep from yapping about it at all?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, still glaring at Mark like he’d like nothing more than to tell his fighter-friends to throw him out on his arse. Mark waited, trying not to let Seb see just how tense he was, hardly hearing the spectators or the punches landing up in the ring because of how loud the rushing of his own blood was in his ears.

“Fine,” Seb gritted, “fine, but you don’t talk to me, and you don’t get in my way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Seb,” Mark said, holding out his hand for Sebastian to shake. He did it very reluctantly and let go of Mark’s hand quickly, making his way back over to the table.

 

It took a few rounds but the blond fighter was more patient. Finally, Sergio lost his fight and came out of the ring, sweaty and winded. Mark took the opportunity to talk to him, thinking he’d need some kind of further ‘in’ if he wanted to be let in again the following week.

“You did pretty good up there,” he said encouragingly. Sergio looked at him like he was happy for the praise, but didn’t quite believe him. He took out his mouthguard before replying.

“He has the longer arms,” he said, looking on as the blond fighter went over to the table to receive his winnings from Sebastian.

“Yeah,” Mark conceded, “but you got him good a couple of times.”

Sergio was about to say something more when he was interrupted by another heavily accented voice.

“Is not good enough to get him a couple of times, you have to keep going and going.”

It was a shorter guy who obviously spoke Spanish too, Mark recognized it when he said something to Sergio and handed him a beer, patting his shoulder bracingly. Sergio accepted the bottle and said something back, seeming a bit more bolstered by whatever this guy had said than what Mark had offered up. He nodded to them both and slunk away towards the door, probably going to get changed.

“Have not seen you here before,” the guy said, handing over a bottle of beer to Mark. “I am Fernando.”

“Mark,” Mark said, shaking hands. The guy might be shorter than him, but he was obviously quite fit; while he wasn’t dressed to fight, Mark could easily see a strong neck and muscular arms. Question was if the guy – Fernando – was a body-builder type, or if he had some actual strength and stamina behind the look.

“Do you fight?” Mark asked, thinking it was neutral enough. Fernando half-shrugged, turning to see who was getting into the ring next.

“Sometimes.”

“But not tonight?”

“You do not fight tonight either?”

“Anyone can fight?” Mark asked, probably a little too excitedly as Fernando looked at him with a curious expression. “It’s my first time here,” he tried. Fernando shrugged again.

“Do you want to fight?”

“I haven’t brought any gear but...”

“No no, not now,” Fernando said with a little laugh. Mark felt a bit like he’d done something stupid.

“Next week, we can fight maybe? If you think you can, of course.” Fernando looked him up and down like he was sizing him up.

“If I can borrow a helmet, you’re on,” Mark said. Fernando coughed as he started to laugh again while taking a sip of beer.

“Okay,” he said when he had settled down. “I will put you on the list, Mark.”

He strode away without saying goodbye, going over to the table and brazenly tapped Kimi on the shoulder. Mark saw them talking and Kimi looked over at him before saying something more to Fernando, and then taking out a sheet of paper and writing something on it. Sebastian was standing next to them but he was focusing so hard on staring at Mark that he didn’t seem to hear Fernando and Kimi at all.

 

The rest of the night Mark watched the few remaining fights and even dared to walk around the room a bit, looking around. It had a half-finished feel to it. The floor was bare concrete and there was wood paneling halfway up two of the four walls. It was as if someone had started renovating what used to be a storage area and given up halfway through. There were a few picture frames on the back wall which seemed to contain newspaper articles, but Mark stayed away, seeing as how he’d have to pass both Sebastian and Kimi to get there.

After daring to talk for a bit with Sergio’s opponent, Marcus, Mark learned that Kimi was the owner of the pub and as such, the owner of the boxing place as well. Marcus worked with _Valtteri_ , which Mark soon learned was the real name of the blond doorman he had met on his first visit, and it was Valtteri who had invited Marcus about a year or so ago. Most of the people had been invited along by someone they knew, but only after being cleared by Kimi and Sebastian, the latter of which also handled the purses for the fighters.

“It’s not much,” Marcus said, still looking quite happy about winning. “A hundred or so for a win, you know.”

His observations during the night brought Mark to one more conclusion. While he had thought, at first, that Seb might have bet some money on one or two of the fights, he soon understood that Seb wasn’t betting for himself but rather handling _all_ the ringside bets. He was a bookie. When people started leaving Mark decided to go before he could accidentally end up on his own with Kimi or Seb, and he went home feeling inspired. If his name was on the list of people who were fighting, there was no chance he wouldn’t get back in.


	4. Chapter 4 - Thursday

_Thursday_

Thursday morning Mark woke up feeling sore. He’d been trying to do whatever little exercise he could, doing pushups and situps at home, but he’d had to admit that he was pretty out of shape. He’d entertained the idea of putting a bag up in the corner of the living room, but even as he was tapping the ceiling to see where he might be able to screw the hook in, the upstairs neighbor started stomping his floor to get him to shut up. There was no way he would get away with a punching bag.

Still, he was optimistic. If he stuck to the exercise routine and turned it up slowly, he should be in good shape again in no time. Also, the other guys at the club were amateurs. Mark had to mentally stop himself from adding “too” every time this thought struck him. He wasn’t an amateur, he had practiced this, even if it had been a while ago. He felt good.

Not even the way Seb was acting towards him could dampen Mark’s spirit much during the week. If Sebastian had been apprehensive before he was being downright bitchy now. He refused to listen to what Mark said and stayed away from him as much as he possibly could, snapping tickets up without saying anything at all if he had to take Mark’s orders. He also kept glaring at Mark like the latter had said or done something personally offensive to him. Between runs he prepped grudgingly and whenever he was in the kitchen Mark could feel his eyes burning into his back.

When Thursday evening came it eased somewhat, as Sebastian, true to his habit, started keeping an eye on the clock instead of Mark. Around the time Kimi usually called, Sebastian was prepping tomatoes and onions with one eye on the time and one eye on his knife.

“Be careful you don’t hurt yourself there, Seb,” Mark said. “The clock isn’t going anywhere.”

“Shut up,” Seb snapped back.

“Number twelve is up.”

Sebastian looked up from the prep counter where he was slowly filling the plastic containers in front of him. He checked the time again.

“Get Kevin to take it.”

“Kevin’s already on a run,” Mark said, mustering up as much patience as he possibly could, “so you can just go, or you can stand here chit-chatting while the food gets cold and then you _still_ have to go and you definitely won’t get a tip.” He stuck the ticket in the stack of boxes and left them on the counter.

Sebastian glared at him. Mark glared right back. The whole week Seb had been a complete arse, and every time Mark told him off for it Seb had made a very clear point of who was the actual problem, as far as he was concerned. If any of the other guys told him what to do Seb was likely to be the perfect employee. He hadn’t minded picking up an extra shift and coming in on short notice – he didn’t even mind doing the closing runs for a few days... as long as Mark wasn’t the one asking him to do it.

Finally, Seb looked away and jerked the boxes off the counter so fast Mark could hear the pizzas sliding around inside.

“Fine,” he grumbled, heading for the door. Another order came in from the front of the house and Mark and Jarno set to work, dividing the order between them and starting to pat out their respective balls of dough. There wasn’t much of a rush and Mark could feel himself turning on his inner autopilot to get through the last couple of hours.

Seb came back in to the kitchen. He checked the time before washing his hands, intent on going back to his prep work.

“I told you to take the delivery?”

“Kevin just came back, I gave it to him.” Mark eyed him suspiciously. He felt a little bit bad for even thinking it, but it sounded like it might be another ploy to piss him off. He couldn’t see where Seb might have done away with the pizzas though, unless he’d actually met Kevin in the hall. Seb might not like Mark, but he wouldn’t risk his job.

“He didn’t mind,” Sebastian added, crossing his arms.

“I bet,” Mark grumbled. “Don’t make it a habit mate, you know the rules.”

“What? He won’t be on overtime.”

“No but it was on the south side.”

“Guys, quit it,” Jarno sighed. It was far from the first time that week he’d gotten tired of their arguing.

“He’s wearing long sleeves, it will be fine,” Sebastian said in a low voice, glancing at the clock again before taking out another couple of onions and starting to chop.

 

The pub finally called and Sebastian took to hovering around the ovens, snatching up the order and leaving without a word as soon as he could. Counting down the time until he could leave too, Mark pawned the last closing chores off on Jarno and Kevin and headed off not much later, perhaps driving a little above the speed limit.

When he arrived he was greeted at the door by Valtteri, who let him in without any questions.

“You can change in there,” he said, pointing to the door on the left. Mark went inside but Valtteri didn’t follow, and it was just as well; Mark doubted the room would have comfortably fit the both of them at once.

It was small and smelled of cleaning products and something wet. The light was very bright and gave off a low humming noise. On one side of the room, all along the wall, there were tiny lockable boxes, like the kind used for mail. Most of the keys were still in the locks but a few were missing. On the other wall there was a shelf, already with a couple of bags on it.

Mark took his keys and wallet out of his pockets and changed into his shorts, taking his shirt off last of all. The room was colder now that he didn’t have all his clothes, and it felt strange to stand there so relatively undressed. He still didn’t know these people, and he had to admit to a feeling of unease. Then again, he had seen plenty of people fight already and regardless of the outcome there hadn’t been a hint of trouble with anyone in the audience or anything.

Taking out his mouthguard and his old gloves and wrappings, Mark stuffed his clothes into his backpack and put it on the shelf, locking his valuables into one of the boxes on the other wall. Then he sat down to wrap his hands. He’d brought one of the dark green Minardi-hoodies and was glad of it now, as it was a bit too cold in the locker room for his liking. When he was done he took a deep breath and grabbed his gloves, not putting them on yet. He didn’t know at what time he’d get to fight, they hadn’t said anything specific about that. Maybe that guy Fernando wasn’t even there yet – or he’d already arrived and, seeing that Mark wasn’t there, had already left? He figured there was only one way to find out.

 

The main room still smelled a bit like a gym but after the musty locker room it was a welcome change. Mark supposed he had to sign in with Kimi or something, so he made his way over to the table. At the moment there were no fighters in the ring, but a few people who weren’t dressed to fight were already milling around. One of them, a slightly older guy with almost black hair, a bit of stubble, and very tired eyes watched him with some interest. Kimi was leaned back in a chair, drinking a beer and talking to Sebastian and two other guys. Seb glared at Mark as he approached.

“Hiya,” Mark said, waving his free hand awkwardly. “I don’t know if I have to sign in or something, I’m supposed to fight tonight and...”

“Fight?” Seb blurted out. “Who are _you_ fighting?”

“Fernando,” Kimi said without looking at his papers. He put his beer down and glanced up at Mark. His face was impassive but there was something like amusement in his eyes. “You have some experience with boxing?”

“Yeah, I boxed in school.”

“Before dropping out,” Seb supplied quietly. He crossed his arms and looked away moodily. Kimi ignored him.

“You can’t bet on your own fight and if you do something stupid like go under the belt and all that you will be thrown out,” Kimi droned. Mark had thought the flatness of his voice might have been due to hearing him over the phone, but no, he actually sounded like that.

“’course,” he said, looking around. “So, when..?”

“Whenever Fernando gets here you can go up anytime.”

Kimi turned back to his beer and that was evidently the end of the conversation. Thinking it’d be silly to have a beer before getting in the ring Mark contented himself to go get a glass of water at the little sink in the corner, wishing he’d brought a water bottle.

“Mark, right?”

The voice made him startle and he almost lost the hold on his glass, his wrapped hands a bit too clumsy for the activity. It was the blond guy from last week, smiling at him and holding out his hand in greeting.

“Oh right, Marcus, hi,” Mark said, his brain catching up with him. They shook hands. Marcus too was dressed in shorts and a hoodie, and Mark took the opportunity to assess him; if he kept going, chances were they’d face each other in the ring someday.

“Going up against Sergio again?” he asked. Marcus laughed.

“Nah, today I’m fighting Esteban.” At the look on Mark’s face, he scanned the room quickly. “He’s over there, the tall one, with the pink shorts?”

Mark looked over and saw another young man, at least as tall as himself, with a slender build and long legs. He was probably an out-boxer, Mark thought. With legs like that, if he knew how to use them, sturdier types like Marcus might just find themselves in trouble.

“He looks like he has longer arms,” Mark said, remembering the comments Sergio had made after the fight the previous week. Marcus laughed again. When he laughed or smiled, he crinkled his eyes a lot and it almost looked like he closed them altogether.

“Did Checo say that?” he asked, still snickering.

“Checo?”

“Sergio, they-... we call him Checo.”

“Right. Yeah, he said you won against him because you have longer arms.”

“Right,” Marcus nodded. “It has to be something I guess.” He looked back out over the room for a little while before turning back to Mark.

“Hey, I don’t mean to be rude or anything but are you and Sebastian... friends?”

Something in the way he said it made Mark narrow his eyes at him.

“You don’t have to answer,” Marcus added quickly.

“I’ll answer, but I’m not sure what you mean by ‘friends’. We work together but we’re not exactly mates.”

“Right.”

They were quiet a while longer, but Mark could tell there was more coming.

“He’s just been acting so weird since you started so I was wondering if maybe he like used to be your friend or something.” Marcus said this so quickly Mark had to think it through a couple of times before he understood what he had actually said.

“Used to be my friend?”

“Yeah like... you know?”

“Like... _friends_?” Mark tried.

“Something like that,” Marcus said, shrugging. It was meant to look nonchalant, but the look on his face said something else.

“Nah mate,” Mark chuckled. The situation felt absurd. “We’re not friends like that, never have been.”

“Right,” Marcus said again.

“Does Seb... have a lot of... _friends_ here then?” Mark found himself asking. So far Seb had seemed pretty much glued to Kimi’s side, handling the purses and the bets. Then again...

“He likes the fighters,” Marcus said, and didn’t expand on the statement any further. Just as Mark was about to ask what he meant, Fernando came into the room and headed towards them as soon as he saw Mark. He was already changed, wearing light blue shorts and a red hoodie that looked too big for him.

“You are early!” he greeted happily, shaking Mark’s hand as best he could when they were both already wrapped up. “Hope you have not waited too long?”

“Nah, no problem mate. You wanna go right away?”

Fernando looked around the room, and then down at Marcus.

“You are going with..?”

“Esteban,” Marcus said, nodding towards the other end of the room.

“I think maybe we let the boys go first?” Fernando said, winking at Mark.

“Eh... sure,” Marcus said, getting up to go over to the ring. He turned back to Mark.

“Good luck.”

“Same, mate, same.”

 

Whether it was his reach or his quick legs, Mark didn’t know, but Esteban did beat Marcus in the third round. Marcus didn’t seem too surprised by this outcome and was smiling happily as he and Esteban gave each other a friendly hug after the match was over.

“Now, we can go,” Fernando said. During the fight he had made a few passing comments on the fighters, but mostly he had just watched them very intently. Since the fight had started the people milling around in the room had drawn closer to the ring, and Mark couldn’t help but think he’d let the other two go first to get a bit of a crowd going.

Climbing up into the ring changed his perspective of the room quite a bit. It wasn’t a fully raised ring but they were still very much on display, above everyone else and illuminated by little spotlights. While the floor was concrete gray, the ring was well-lit and blue, and it made everything outside of it look that much darker. Mark’s heart was racing.

Fernando took off his shirt and dropped it behind his corner, so Mark followed suit. One of the guys on his side of the ring held up a padded helmet for him; it wasn’t quite the right size but it looked clean and it would have to do. He put it on and turned around... and could almost feel his jaw hit the floor. This guy Fernando was ripped. If this had been anywhere near a professional setting there was no way they would have been in the same weight class. Mark had figured he was a little out of shape, but he hadn’t been worried seeing as these guys were all amateurs. Now, he was worried.

Judging by his neck, his biceps, the six-pack-abs and the way it all looked proportionate to the well-muscled legs, like the result of good planning and hard work, Fernando obviously worked out. He obviously knew what he was doing in the ring too as he took a few testing steps, got into position, and then dropped his guard again to go to the middle of the ring so they could touch gloves.

All was not lost, Mark decided on his way back to his corner. Okay, this guy had him when it came to brute strength, he was sure of that now, but he had him on reach. If he didn’t let Fernando get in close enough to benefit from his superior strength, he could wear him out and get a few blows in, maybe even win it.

The bell sounded and they came out of their corners, circling each other to the right. Fernando kept his guard up diligently and Mark gave him a testing blow, instantly feeling the difference it made to actually _hit_ something, rather than when he shadowboxed at home or did the exercises he remembered from when he had boxed before. Fernando struck back, two quick jabs followed by a hook that Mark dodged easily. The next two jabs connected though and even though they didn’t really hurt, he could tell it would mean a world of pain to let Fernando get in close and let loose on him. He swung wide, and Fernando ducked.

Mark held his own in the first round, managing to stick to his tactic. As long as he kept Fernando at a distance, he would get a few hits in before having to move back. This meant Fernando would be stuck between backing away before he could even get a hit in, or had to attack through Mark’s range and suffer a few blows before he could do anything.

When the bell sounded again Mark figured he would start the same as the first round. He kept his guard up, moved in, and jabbed. Fernando ducked to avoid him, and Mark made to step back.

Only Fernando stepped forward.

While still crouched down, he put his foot forward and when Mark realized the uppercut was coming, it was already way too late. The blow connected with his jaw and he saw stars, all sound drained from the room, the blue mat was like an infinite ocean below and he was falling right into it. He wasn’t sure whether his feet had left the floor but he fell back onto the mat with a thud, and then the bell sounded several times in succession. The match was over, and he had lost.

 

He got out of the ring under his own steam and Marcus gave him a quick once-over before leading him back to where they had been seated. He handed him a small towel and Mark tore the helmet off, mopping off his sweaty face. It had hardly been a round and a half, and he was drenched. He was in much worse shape than he’d first thought.

Still, as his breathing slowed down and he looked around the room, he realized none of the fighters and nobody in the crowd was laughing or jeering or anything. Some of them were looking his way, but nobody was saying anything to him.

“Your odds were really shit,” a flat voice said from somewhere to his right. Mark looked over and Kimi was standing there, holding out a beer. He looked rather amused. “You need to exercise.”

“Yeah, no shit mate,” Mark said sarcastically.

“No I mean for sure you need to exercise,” Kimi said as if confirming his own point. Mark stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds. Then Kimi’s lip rose just a little bit.

“Seriously if you had been against anybody but Fernando you could have had a chance,” he continued, sitting down beside Mark and taking a sip from his own bottle. “You need to train up and come back and then you could win some fights.”

“Fernando’s a beast,” Mark said. It was the only commentary he could supply on his own fight. Fernando had probably just been studying him that first round and then, as soon as he had left an opening, Fernando had taken it and taken it _hard_.

“He’s strong,” Kimi agreed offhandedly, “but I still think you can beat him if you train up a little bit. You really have been boxing before?”

“Yeah, I said so didn’t I?” Mark finished wiping his face and took a mouthful of beer. It was chilled and tasted delicious – he’d need to drink some water, he realized, or this would go straight to his head. The bout with Fernando had been short, but it had still left him dehydrated.

“Everybody says they have boxed before and then they get up in the ring and think it’s just jumping around and making fucking punches and they look like fucking idiots.”

The bell sounded for the next fight and Mark looked over and saw that Paul, the grumpy Scot who had seen him out on his first visit, was by the table now.

“I thought Seb would handle the fights if you weren’t there for it?” Mark said before he could stop himself. Kimi snorted.

“Paul is fair.”

“You’re saying Seb isn’t?”

Kimi actually turned a little in his seat to look at Mark now.

“Seb takes care of all the bets and that’s more than enough.” When Mark didn’t say anything for a while, Kimi seemed to grudgingly accept that he should say something more. “I wasn’t saying he isn’t fair but I’m not saying he is either.”

Mark just stared at him. When the fight was over Kimi got up and left, and Mark stayed in his seat to watch the other fights and have one more beer. He thought he knew what Kimi meant by the others not knowing quite how to box; a lot of them were doing it like they had probably seen on TV or in movies, and while it looked almost right he could see the little flaws in it better now.

 

A while later Kimi’s seat was taken by Fernando. He was still in his shorts but had put the hoodie on again.

“Ah, was going to buy you a beer, but somebody has already.”

“Yeah Kimi came over to give me some... critique,” Mark said. They shook hands. “Good match, mate. You’re... there’s some vodka in that punch.”

Fernando looked at him confused.

“Vodka? I do not...”

“Sorry, I mean you’re strong, you’ve got some muscle on you,” Mark said with a chuckle. It was refreshing to see Fernando a little on the back foot; he seemed a man who didn’t often find himself in such a position.

They both fell silent, watching the ongoing fight.

“Are you going up again tonight?” Mark asked.

“No, am working tomorrow so I have to get home. I just wanted to buy you a drink, for the match, you know. Now you have to let me buy you a drink some other time.”

“Well you seem to be a regular so we could have a re-match next Thursday?”

Fernando smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“I was thinking maybe Saturday?”

“Beg pardon?”

Fernando got up from his seat and held his hand out again, and Mark shook it, still feeling like he’d lost the conversation somewhere along the way.

“Saturday, we go for drinks, talk about the match, you know.”

“Alright...” Mark said hesitantly. “Well my phone is in my...”

“Is okay, I have your number,” Fernando interrupted, waving his hand. “Will see you Saturday.”

He left, leaving Mark sitting in utter confusion for a good couple of minutes. Then he got up. There was only one person here who had his number. He got up, intent on stomping over and giving Seb a piece of his mind. He took one step and stopped. There was no fight at the moment so Kimi and a few of the others were talking among themselves at the table by the ring. Beside them however, Sebastian was sitting very close to one of the fighters, a big blond guy Mark hadn’t noticed before. He had a big, green... _something_ on his arm, and Seb was smiling sweetly up at him and touching his arm in a way that could mean only one thing. From how he was looking back at Seb, the blond guy seemed to be reading the signals loud and clear. Mark stared for a moment, dumbstruck. Then he turned to leave too.


	5. Chapter 5 - Thursday

_Thursday_

The week passed in a blur. Mark was called in to work extra and had to cancel on having a drink with Fernando. Still, they had been messaging on and off throughout the week, getting to know each other better. Fernando wouldn’t be at the pub due to “travel for work”, and Mark had only then thought to ask what the other man did for a living. The reply had been “I work in marketing” and Mark had replied with the equally vague “I’m in the restaurant business”. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the other man intrigued him and he’d rather not spoil any possible chances by going into detail about his somewhat crappy job with its even crappier pay.

Sebastian had been an absolute nightmare all week, no longer settling for avoiding Mark but rather making snide comments when none of the others could hear. It culminated after a rude remark on Thursday evening, just before dinner time.

“Would you give it a fucking rest Seb?” Mark hissed furiously, only just keeping from grabbing Sebastian to try to shake some sense into him. “I get it, you don’t like me going, I’ve got the message.”

“So you’ll stop?” Seb hissed back. He looked livid, clenching and unclenching his fists like he was itching to try to punch him.

“No, I won’t. Unfortunately for you, I like it. We’re just going to have to agree to...”

“I don’t see why you fucking bother,” Seb sneered. “You’re a loser, why would you fight? You dropped out of school and Fernando dropped you on your ass.”

Mark gritted his teeth.

“Look here you little shit,” he growled, stepping into Sebastian’s personal space. He didn’t care. Doing his best to keep his voice down and keep from shoving Seb into the wall, he leaned in even closer. “Like I said last time, if you get me in trouble for this, I get you in trouble for this. So why don’t we both just shut the fuck up about it?”

“How many times will you need to lose before you quit?” Seb sneered back. “I’ll shut up but don’t interfere with me.”

“What, your little betting-operation? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They stared at each other in cold silence for a few moments before reality, in the shape of Kevin, came bustling in to the hall.

“Two deliveries are up and Jarno needs you Mark!”

He rushed away again, seemingly unaware of the tension. Mark and Sebastian went back to the kitchen, Seb to pick up one of the deliveries, Mark to get back to work.

 

Kimi called in for pizza as usual and as soon as Sebastian left, Mark could feel his mood picking up. Not that he really disliked him, not as such, it was just that Sebastian always really applied himself to things, meaning he was usually pretty good at them – and as Mark had seen over the past few weeks, this was regardless of if what Seb applied himself to was his job or being a dick.

He’d asked to be put on the list again but hadn’t heard back, so he’d packed his trunks, gloves, wrappings and mouthguard that morning just hoping he’d picked up a fight. It felt strangely familiar now, getting off work, going to the closed pub in the quiet neighborhood, knocking on the back door and being let in. Paul was at the door today.

“Alright?” Mark said, stepping inside.

“Not bad,” Paul said, giving him a little nod. “It’d be a shame to complain.” He looked Mark up and down and smiled the first smile Mark had ever seen from him.

“What’d you do to piss off Seb so bad then?” His tone was amused, there was obviously some kind of joke here that Mark was missing.

“Scuse me?”

“He’s put you up against Hulkenberg tonight and I was wondering what you did to deserve it.”

“Hulkenberg?”

“Big German bloke, blond, yellow and black trunks? Stupid tattoo on his arm?” Paul described. Mark realized it sounded like the guy Seb had been sitting with last week, and if he was right in that guess, he was right on track for another date with the mat.

 

After getting changed in the tiny little changing room, Mark took his things and went in to the main room. Two fighters were already in the ring and most of the crowd was looking up at them. It was Esteban from last week, and someone Mark hadn’t seen before. He had blond hair which looked quite styled, and while he was fit he definitely wasn’t a boxer. He kept forgetting to move his feet and his guard was probably only kept in place because Esteban wasn’t letting up on him for a second. The blows kept coming but the guy wasn’t giving up, he kept trying to push through and get within range. Grit, Mark thought. A good quality in a boxer. He just needed some technique.

Seb and Kimi were over by their table as usual, and Mark moved to the back of the room where Marcus was sitting with Valtteri, the guy Valtteri had been fighting the first time Mark had watched, and a small, dark-haired man who was laughing at something Marcus had said.

“Mark, hi!” Marcus said happily, making a bit of space for him at the table. He shook hands with Valtteri and the other two introduced themselves as Pastor and Felipe. They readily invited him into the conversation and Mark quickly learned that Pastor had invited Valtteri in as they worked together, and Felipe knew Kimi “from before”, whatever that meant, and tried to come in at least once a month or so.

“Is good exercise, you know, keep the heart going!” he said enthusiastically, making a couple of jabs in the air. Marcus and the others laughed.

“Yeah I can definitely use the exercise mate,” Mark chuckled. Then he thought of something.

“Hey, does anybody use the gear in here?”

“Gear?”

“The bags and stuff, does anybody practice here?”

The others all looked at each other. Nobody seemed to know.

“I don’t think so...” Marcus said hesitantly.

“Is all Kimi’s old things, if anyone is using it I don’t know,” Felipe added.

“I think maybe the girls use the stuff sometimes,” Valtteri started, and when everyone’s attention was on him his voice lowered just a little. “I’m not sure though I don’t know...”

“The girls?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, Minttu and the others? They’re usually not here on Thursdays, just sometimes, so I guess they might use it,” Marcus said.

 

They kept talking, telling Mark more about the others, until the tall blond Mark had seen Seb with the previous week came sauntering over.

“Mark?” he said, holding out his hand for Mark to shake. When he gripped it the handshake wasn’t just firm, but hard, like Hulkenberg was trying to crush his hand. “Anytime you’re ready.”

“Yeah just let me wrap up,” Mark said, doing his best to keep from making a face. He didn’t want to give this guy the satisfaction.

 

The best thing he could say about the fight afterwards was that it was short. Hulkenberg was about the same height as him and didn’t have much boxing training, he was slow as anything and kept dropping his guard, but he was strong and he had stamina. Not that Mark found out the latter by any of his own efforts; when Hulkenberg had knocked him down in the first round, he’d stayed in the ring and told Kimi to send up whoever was ready to face him, and proceeded to go two and a half rounds with Pastor too.

Mark had a beer while talking to the others and watching the fights. Most people came once or twice a month but some were there every Thursday. Sebastian handled all the betting and the purses for the winners, and while there was a very serious no-drugs-policy in place, Kimi sold beer cheap every fight-night.

After unwrapping his hands and putting on his hoodie again, Mark took a stroll to stretch his legs a bit. Now that the locale and most of the fighters felt more familiar, he didn’t feel so apprehensive about being there at all. Seb’s glare fell on him as soon as he came too near, but even that bothered him less now. Walking to the back of the room he passed what must be the door upstairs to the pub, and beside it a door with a sign indicating it was for storage. The wood paneling was finished here and it looked nice, a light wood of some sort with a rounded bevel to it. Looking up, Mark jerked in surprise. Staring back at him from one of the framed newspaper pages was a young blond man in full boxing regalia, soaked in sweat and holding a belt above his head, long before he’d come to own a pub and operate an underground boxing ring. A much younger Kimi.

 

Drifting back to the table, Mark sat down feeling a little dazed. The others were back and talking again but he didn’t really participate in the conversations. He only half registered the others discussing some of the spectators who they apparently knew, and Felipe making a joke about how Seb ‘made the odds better’ for some of the fighters. Soon enough people started saying their goodbyes, setting up fights or at least signing up for Thursdays to come. Mark decided to sign up too.

When he approached the table Seb wasn’t there, and this was odd enough to make him look at his surroundings a little more closely. One of the spectators, a dark-haired man with very tired eyes, was hanging around the table like he was trying to overhear something, and Kimi motioned for him to step away. The man slunk away towards the exit without saying anything. Looking around a little Mark soon found Sebastian. He was off to the side, basically sitting in Hulkenberg’s lap again, leaning in and talking close to his ear.

“Are you a little bit jealous or do you just like to watch?” Kimi was looking up at him with a smirk.

“Nah mate, just never seen him act like that before.”

“He’s always acting like that so maybe you just are not his type,” Kimi said, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to anybody else. Mark didn’t quite know what to make of the statement, he still wasn’t sure when Kimi was joking and not, but he reminded himself why he was there.

“I wanted to ask you a question actually,” he said. Kimi took his bottle off the table and at the same time motioned with his elbow for Mark to take the seat next to him.

“All the exercise-stuff in here, is anyone using it?”

“Not really. Sometimes a friend of mine uses it but not very often I think.”

“You think?”

Kimi shrugged.

“She has her own keys so I don’t have to be here and open and close and everything.”

“Right,” Mark said. He had to collect himself a little; Kimi was an image of unconcern and it was kind of jarring to think he let a friend of his use the basement of his business without even keeping tabs on how often they were there.

“Well I wanted to ask you if I could use it too?”

“What?”

“The kit.”

“Yeah I understood that bit but why do you want to?”

Mark bit the inside of his cheek. It always cost him something to admit just how tight money was. Truth was that after rent and expenses he was barely making ends meet.

“I can’t afford a gym,” he said, looking away and running a hand through his hair, “and I love the boxing mate but I can’t keep getting my ass handed to me, I need to get back in shape.”

Kimi didn’t say anything, but there was no pity in the way he was looking at Mark.

“I can give you some money, I mean I don’t have much but...”

“Minttu,” Kimi said, leaning back to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll give you her number and if she says okay you can use the stuff.” He clicked around on his phone for a while and finally held it over. Mark asked for a blank piece of paper and wrote the number down. As he got up to leave Kimi grabbed his arm.

“Just remember it’s not a fucking gym.”

Mark nodded his agreement despite not being sure what Kimi meant, and started his trip back home.

 

The only bad thing about Thursdays was that since Mark left directly from work, he’d been having a dinner consisting of pizza every Thursday for the past month. When he got home he opened the fridge and grabbed an apple. He put Minttu’s number on the fridge door with a magnet and thought about calling her, and finished the apple before taking a quick shower. None of his neighbors had complained yet, they all knew he worked late of course, but he still kept it short. No reason to start stirring up trouble when things were finally going so relatively well.


	6. Chapter 6 - Thursday

_Thursday_

It had taken Mark a few days to pluck up the courage to call Minttu, and they’d set up to meet the following Monday night. He had also spent some time replying to a handful of messages from Fernando wondering how his fights were going, how he’d been, and the last one wishing him a good night with an ‘x’ at the end.

Minttu had sounded friendly enough over the phone and said Mark could come and train anytime she was using the locale, under the condition that he didn’t interfere with her “group”. Once they had met up, Mark had found out what she meant: Minttu coached a couple of other girls twice a week, and arrived with three other ladies who all made him feel just a little self-conscious about being there.

At first he’d thought they’d be exercising or doing some kind of self-defense, but it soon became clear that this was not the case. After a warm-up-routine that would probably have sent Mark to the nearest emergency room if he’d tried to keep up, the ladies all put on gloves, mouthguards, and helmets and began sparring in groups of two. While most of them started out jabbing and crossing, some of them soon moved on to kneeing and high-kicking. Mark had to work very hard to not just stand there and stare in amazement.

Mark had quickly worked out a routine for himself where he could get some cardio in as well as some weights and a bit of time punching the bag. While he was very sore that Wednesday he had joined Minttu again, and could already feel his old strength starting to come back to him. It would however be for the best to sit out the fights come Thursday. He had saved up his tips all week and decided to do a little bit of gambling instead.

The situation with Sebastian had settled into some kind of truce, where they both ignored each other as much as possible. Seb did his usual clockwatching before heading off on the last delivery of the day, and Mark did his little dance of telling Jarno he could handle closing and then cleaning up quickly before leaving.

 

It felt strange to walk past the changing room and straight into the main room. Mark was building habits fast, and he hoped to keep it up; the exercise pains at least made it feel like it was working. He went over to the ringside table to get himself crossed out of any fighting that night, and then grabbed a beer and went over to what he had started to consider ‘his table’, where he usually sat with a few of the other guys. There was nobody in the ring and he was there earlier than ever, so it would probably be a while before things got started.

Soon enough Felipe joined him, and they whittled away the time until the first fight talking about work. Or rather, Felipe talked about work. Mark had limited his own input to saying he worked “at a restaurant”, and most of the others seemed to assume he was a chef. Letting the others talk was fine though. Felipe worked at a recycling plant and had plenty of stories about his strange workmates and the many weird things people tried to throw away.

By the time the first fighters were in the ring a lot of the people Mark now knew fairly well had arrived. He thought he’d limit himself to two ten-dollar bets, but he didn’t want to bet on anyone he hadn’t seen fight before. From the look of it, Paul, Marcus, Sergio, Felipe, and Hulk were all set to fight tonight, along with a few others. Everyone was eager to give Mark advice on how to place his money.

“I’m up against Marcus,” Paul said, glancing at his opponent. Marcus flexed his arms exaggeratedly, and laughed along with everyone else. “And he’s slow as fucking molasses,” Paul finished.

“Yeah, but I only need to get like one good hit in on you, because you’re not very heavy,” Marcus said, jerking his head to the side. “It’s a two hit fight every time. I hit you, you hit the floor.”

The others laughed again. It was all talk, and there was certainly no hostility in the words.

“Could bet against Hulk, whoever he goes against?” Felipe said, lowering his voice a bit so Hulk, who was standing closer to the ring, wouldn’t hear.

“Hulk is slow mate,” Mark agreed, “but he can take a hit and he gives you back plenty.”

“For sure, but he is slower tonight.” Felipe winked at him. The others traded looks and grins. There was some kind of joke here that Mark didn’t know about yet.

“Okay? Why?” he finally asked when nobody explained it right away.

“Seb,” Paul said, rolling his eyes. When Mark still looked confused, he leaned in and spoke more softly.

“Seb likes the fighters, right?”

Mark nodded.

“So sometimes he... you know, gets on with one a bit. And after a fight that’s all right, of course. But not everyone deals with getting on a bit _before_ the fights.”

Mark mulled this over for a second. Felipe shrugged.

“Some guys, you know, work better when they have had a bit of the getting on,” he said, nudging Paul in the side. Paul rolled his eyes again.

“So you’re saying sometimes Seb tips the odds a bit, by any means he can?” Mark summarized.

“He doesn’t do it a lot,” Marcus said, glancing over at the table where Seb and Kimi were sitting as usual. “Kimi tells him not to do it.”

“Who’s Hulk up against tonight then?” Mark asked, suddenly a bit more interested. Any kind of beneficial odds were good, especially if he was planning on sticking to two bets.

“Don’t know, you’ll have to ask Kimi.”

 

Mark couldn’t deny that it would give him a sense of great satisfaction to see someone beat Hulk. He’d listened while the others talked about the young man, and gathered that he was a bouncer at a club in the city, with dreams of becoming a pro fighter someday. As far as Mark could tell, Hulk, whose real name was Nico, would have to do a lot of practicing if he wanted to make it to the pros. He relied way too much on his superior strength and didn’t move anywhere near quick enough to have a chance against a properly trained fighter.

It struck him that Kimi, who had actually _been_ a professional fighter at one point, must know this. Still, it didn’t seem like he had any interest in coaching any of the fighters. He seemed content to look on even thought their lack of real skill annoyed him, from the comments he had made to Mark before.

There was some noise over by the door and a few heads turned as someone wolf-whistled. Minttu had come in with one of the girls from her class. She didn’t care one iota for the looks she was getting, and strode over to the table where Kimi was sitting like she owned the place. She leaned down and Kimi hugged her in greeting, but remained seated. The other girl lifted her hand a little nervously and waved hello, but stayed mostly behind Minttu.

“Have you got anyone for me tonight?” Minttu asked, pulling the list closer to look for herself. Sebastian narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything or try to get the list back.

“Only real boxers.” Kimi’s voice was flat but he was smirking slightly.

“You’re going to fight?” Mark asked. He couldn’t stop himself. There were certainly no men there in Minttu’s weight class, and when they had talked it had sounded like she hosted her group mostly for the exercise.

“Mark, hi,” she said, leaning in for a brief hug with him too. Sebastian glared at them and kept looking at Kimi like he expected him to do something about it. Kimi, however, did nothing.

“I was hoping someone would give me a bit of a workout, yes. Not many of the guys do kickboxing though.”

Having seen Minttu work out, Mark could see another side of the problem: whoever she went up against had a good chance of losing, and none of the guys would like that.

“What do you say, Mark? Do you want to go a few rounds?”

Mark laughed, shaking his head.

“Thanks but no thanks.”

“Are you afraid of maybe getting your ass kicked again?”

The voice wasn’t familiar, but looking up Mark realized it was Hulk who had come sidling over to see what was going on.

“Nah mate, I didn’t bring any clothes today.” Mark wasn’t going to let Hulk get to him, but he thoroughly wished he could put the guy in his place a little. He was very cocky, and now smiled smugly.

“I was thinking you would be so used to it by now so you might have a better chance fighting a girl.”

“So what’s your excuse then?” Mark said, crossing his arms.

“What?”

“What’s your excuse? You’re not partnered with anyone yet, you could fight her?”

Hulk looked at Minttu, who was giving him an overly sweet smile. He looked back at Mark with a chuckle, like the idea was completely preposterous.

“I don’t want to fight her! I’d fuck her up, it’s not a match. I don’t want to hurt...”

“I’ll put all the money I have on me right now that you get your ass handed to you.” Mark jutted his chin up at Hulk.

“That’s stupid,” Hulk finally said.

“If you don’t want to that’s fine. I understand,” Minttu said coolly. “I don’t like to lose either.”

Mark could see it the second she said it. It was like flicking a switch on. Hulk’s eyes were suddenly alight, and his mouth became a thin, straight line. He clenched his fists.

“Alright,” he gritted. “But pair me up for a real fight later. And don’t come crying when I kick your ass,” he added, first to Kimi and then to Minttu. Kimi shrugged and took his list back.

Mark took out his money and held it out to Seb.

“Minttu to win,” he said, and then hurried after her when she started walking towards the changing room.

“Look, he’s a slugger, and he’s real strong but he’s slow as fuck and he drops his guard a lot,” Mark said, talking fast. “He’s dominant with his right and he tends to leave his left unguarded, and he jabs a lot more than he hooks, so...”

“Mark, are you worried?” Minttu interrupted.

“... little bit,” Mark admitted.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t waste your money.” She winked at him as they reached the door. “Buy a beer for me? I will take it when the fight is over.”

Feeling a little unsure, Mark made his way back to the table. Now there was a bit of buzz. Some of the guys had obviously seen her fight before. Listening with half an ear, Mark heard Felipe telling Marcus that Hulk might have a chance but that trying it was ‘stupid’. Marcus just laughed, and seemed quite bolstered by the prospect of Hulk losing.

When Minttu came back, dressed in a pair of fairly short shorts and a tank top, there was a bit of mumbling among the guys watching. She had put up her hair in a ponytail and was carrying her gloves, her hands already wrapped up tight.

“Remember to not kick,” Kimi said as Minttu stepped up into the ring and handed her sweater to her friend Hanna.

“No no,” Hulk said, climbing into the ring on the other side. “Give me everything you have sweetie.” He motioned with his gloves for her to come at him.

“Did you hear that?” Minttu said, turning to Kimi. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine. Fight however you like.”

 

As Mark had been afraid, the fight was indeed short. The result however, was not what he had feared. When they stepped out of the corners on the starting bell, Hulk put his guard up as usual, but didn’t put any effort in to moving his feet. Minttu danced left and right, her guard raised and her eyes wary of any movement from her much larger opponent. Now that they were in the ring and both in much lighter clothing, it was like seeing a tank coming for a toy car.

Hulk jabbed a couple of times, almost playfully. He was still smiling like he figured this would be easy, like he thought either he would knock her out with one good punch, or she would call the whole thing off after a few seconds of dancing around in the ring. Minttu however ducked and slipped left, avoiding his jab easily. He chased her with a few punches, forced to move by her dancing around him. It was already annoying him that nothing was connecting, Mark thought. Soon enough, he’d make a mistake.

When Hulk turned he raised his guard, accustomed to fighting a boxer who might go for the head or a body blow. Minttu, however, was no regular boxer. Her right leg flew out quick as a flash and hit Hulk’s thigh with a resounding smack. Mark winced. Hulk would be feeling that one in the morning. Jerking from surprise and pain, Hulk seemed to realize that Minttu could actually hurt him.

He was just too slow to do anything about it. Minttu easily dodged another jab and when Hulk’s right was extended, his side was wide open to attack. One kick landed hard, and when she pulled her leg back she lowered it, hooking her foot behind his knee and making him lose his balance. He got up quickly, but now he looked thoroughly pissed off.

Being pissed off couldn’t change a thing though. He kept dropping his guard and she was much too fast for him. Another few of her hits landed, short jabs to the face when she flitted around the side of him, twice kicks to his side made him flinch, and one more kick to the thigh sent him to the mat. His teeth were bared in a grimace of pain; nothing was broken, but he was _hurt_ , and definitely not inclined to fight anymore. The bell sounded soon thereafter, and the loudest applause Mark had ever heard in the room so far erupted.

“Well done,” Kimi said with a grin when Minttu came over to claim her winnings. Mark had already gotten his money from Sebastian and handed her the promised beer.

“It’s Mark’s fault,” she said, toasting his bottle with her own. “Seeing him working so hard made me want to come for a visit. Maybe next time, we can go a round?”

“I’ll take an indefinite raincheck,” Mark laughed. “I’m a lot of things, but not stupid.”

 

Later, Fernando arrived. He wasn’t dressed to fight and rather than going to the table he went straight for where Mark was sitting.

“Sorry, work was... did I miss anything good?”

Mark went over Hulk’s loss against Minttu, feeling pretty good about how Fernando was hanging on his every word, laughing heartily when he reached the end. Hulk had already left. When Mark went to buy Fernando a drink, he noticed Sebastian standing some ways away, pressed against one of the fighters Mark had seen before, but didn’t know. It was the man with the carefully styled hair; Mark couldn’t remember his name but he’d won his fight, obviously having practiced his footwork over the past couple of weeks. Now that he saw him up close, he noticed that the man looked a fair bit younger than both himself and Seb. They were kissing.

“At least he’s winning something since he fucked up the bet with Minttu,” a flat voice said, startling Mark. Kimi had come up behind him, probably to see what had caught Mark’s attention.

“After the fights it’s fine,” Mark said, recalling what the others had said earlier. Kimi actually laughed.

“He’s a bunny, do you know what a bunny is?”

Mark shrugged. “I know he likes the fighters.”

“He likes the winners,” Kimi said, patting Mark’s shoulder and starting to lead them back to the ringside table.

“So you and him..?” Mark dared. Kimi glanced at him but didn’t say anything.

“I saw the news clippings,” Mark explained.

“Long time ago.”

“The boxing or you and Seb?”

“Both.”

They were both quiet for a little while. Mark found he rather liked Kimi’s company. He always seemed kind of gruff and his sense of humor was very sarcastic, but what you saw was exactly what you got and Mark could definitely see the benefits of that.

“Which do you like more,” Mark said after a minute or so, deciding to break the silence. “Keeping your mouth shut or not hearing yourself talk?”

Kimi laughed.

“He thinks is best when others shut up too, I think.”

Fernando had come over to them and while Kimi chuckled at the comment, it was a bit more reserved than a minute ago. While Paul called up the last fight of the night they made small-talk, Kimi grumbling something about someone called ‘Toto’ who he was thinking about excluding, since he never bet or fought, and Fernando discreetly trying to get Mark back to their own table.

When he finally managed it, it turned out he wanted to ask Mark to have dinner with him on Saturday. Mark said yes.


	7. Chapter 7 - Thursday

_Thursday_

The date with Fernando had gone very well, but it was a good thing Mark had won some money betting the fights. The bill was way beyond his normal budget. He had tried to carefully explain that he didn’t have the best situation financially, but Fernando just didn’t seem to understand. It had turned out he wasn’t just “in marketing”. Fernando was in charge of the marketing department for a pretty big car company, specifically dealing with the European branch of their business. Mark had balked when he’d told him.

It had been on his mind throughout the week. Fernando was out of his league, and would probably take off at a run if Mark ever told him what he actually did for a living. A few dates in it was still pretty easy to avoid the topic, but if they kept seeing each other this would turn into a problem quick. Still, the way Fernando had kissed him goodnight, Mark wasn’t going to give up without a fight – he just didn’t quite know what to do.

While everything wasn’t entirely rosy, things had at least been better at work. Mark and Seb had gone back to speaking somewhat politely to each other, and in a quiet moment of prep-work Mark had actually asked how much money Seb made from his little gambling-operation. Sebastian had apparently been unable to resist bragging a little.

“I could probably quit Minardi if I wanted,” he had said, smiling like the thought excited him. “Not that I ever would,” he’d added quickly. “The cover is good, I can move and take bets while I do deliveries, and I’ve always been good with numbers.”

“But you’re the one who sets the odds as well?”

“Yeah but Kimi helps with that.”

“Because you’re just a little bit biased?” Mark had teased. Seb had looked up at him with a frown, but the look had softened once he’d seen that Mark was smiling.

“So, how many wins do I need before my odds start getting better then?” Mark had asked, clearing off his cutting board. Seb had smiled wickedly at him.

“That’s just not going to happen.”

“Not even if I let you sit on my lap?” he had joked. Seb had glowered at him, and Mark had burst out laughing.

 

Not long after, his mood was significantly dampened by Fernando calling and asking if they could have dinner before heading to the pub. Mark said he had to work and Fernando tried to get him to take the evening off.

“Is only _one_ night, come on, please? For sure you can have one night off.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll see you there.”

“Was really hoping we could have dinner, there is a great new place and...”

His words faded away. Whatever place Fernando had set his sights on it would without a doubt be out of range of what Mark could afford.

“I’m really sorry, I just can’t.” It felt easier to say it quickly and get it out of the way. Fernando was definitely disappointed. When he was about to leave Mark checked his phone, and there was a single, short message from Fernando saying he wouldn’t be able to make it to the pub that evening. _Beginning of the end,_ Mark thought.

 

He was late in setting out for the pub and by the time he got there the sheet was full. He’d packed his things thinking he’d brave the still lingering exercise pains, and since the end of the day had been kind of crap he would have loved to work out some frustration in the ring. Getting knocked out by Hulk, who was probably the only one who’d take him up on a short-notice couple of rounds didn’t sound too attractive though.

The night continued much in the same vein as the day had, however, and a lot of the guys Mark had gotten to know weren’t in attendance. In fact, he was so late that by the time he arrived there were hardly any fights left. Sebastian was also sitting at a suspicious distance from Kimi, and they weren’t talking and keeping notes like they usually were.

A single beer, or sometimes two, spread out over the night and interspersed with several glasses of water, was perfectly fine. Mark knew he was being stupid, but tonight however, he bought two beers at once and set to work on the second before what was probably the last fight of the night was even out of the first round.

“You are drinking like you mean it,” a now-familiar voice said next to him. Kimi had left his little table and strolled over to where Mark was sitting. He sat down heavily and slid down a bit in his chair.

“Had a shit day mate,” Mark said, glancing at Kimi. He was facing the ring but his eyes were clearly further away than that. He took a drink and set his glass down hard on the table between them. Even at this distance Mark could smell the hard spirit.

“What’s your excuse?” he asked. Kimi didn’t look over.

“Ex-wife is being a bitch,” he grumbled. Mark waited for him to elaborate, but Kimi barely even blinked. The occasional squeak of shoes and the sometime thump of gloves against skin meant the match was still ongoing, but Mark was wholly uninterested. He eyed the glass between them.

“Pub’s open tonight then?” he finally said. Now Kimi looked over.

“Huh?”

“The pub, upstairs. Is it open, or..?” He nodded towards the glass.

“Do you want to order something?” One side of Kimi’s mouth rose a little bit, and he picked up his glass to have another sip. “How much are you wanting to tip me to go get you a drink?”

“You know what, never mind.”

Kimi chuckled, but then saw the serious look on Mark’s face.

“Wait here,” he said, getting up and leaving through the door Mark had always assumed led to the bar. He was back before the round had ended with a bottle and a glass. He poured the glass half-full and then set the bottle down discreetly behind one of the table legs.

“Cheers,” he said, picking up his own. Mark lifted his glass and toasted him. The alcohol burned going down his throat and he coughed. Kimi looked at him.

“Too strong?”

“Nah mate,” Mark said, feeling his eyes watering. “Just wasn’t ready for it, that’s all.” He took another sip as if to demonstrate, and focused on not making a face. Kimi grinned, and lifted his own glass again.

 

They drank in companionable silence while the last fight ended, and people started filing out of the room. Mark was a little surprised that Seb left without saying goodbye to Kimi beyond giving him a little wave as he went out the door.

By now Mark was pleasantly buzzed. It felt good to not give a shit about money-troubles, Fernando, not being in shape, all of it.

“So what is going on between you and Fernando?”

Kimi’s words cut through his warm feelings of not caring and he looked up in surprise.

“What’s going on with you and the ex-wife?” he countered, thinking that would put an end to the subject. Kimi looked at him for a little bit, and then stood up.

“We’re going to need more to drink,” he said, motioning for Mark to get up too.

It wasn’t until then Mark realized the room was empty. The ring was still lit but felt somehow a little eerie, so bright and cold. Kimi went over to the table next to it and picked up the metal box Sebastian and he kept the money in, and also gathered up the sheets of paper with the roster and results for the night. When he walked towards the stairs, Mark followed him.

The pub was dark, and to Mark’s surprise Kimi walked down a little hallway to another door.

“Hold this.” He handed over the cash box.

“That’s trusting of you, just giving me all this money...”

“What are you going to do, run away with it? You’re drunk and you don’t even know where the door is.” He unlocked the door and revealed another set of stairs.

“You live above the pub?”

Kimi made a noise in the affirmative and went up the stairs, unlocking the door at the top.

The apartment was small and kind of messy. Mark could see a small kitchenette on the right, with a little table and two chairs by the nearest window. On the left was living room area where a gray corner sofa fought for space alongside a television, a dark brown table cluttered with magazines, two rice paper floor lamps, an overflowing bookcase with books and DVDs stacked every which way. There was a blanket bundled up on one end of the sofa, and a pillow. Taking just one more step inside though, Mark saw an unmade bed in an alcove, half hidden behind a dark blue curtain.

“Sit, sit,” Kimi said, waving him towards one of the chairs near the kitchen. Mark did as he was told. Kimi took two glasses out of a cupboard and took a bottle of rum down from a shelf by the refrigerator. Then he took a bottle of soda out of the fridge and set it all on the table in front of Mark, who understood that he was to pour himself a drink.

“So, what’s the problem with the missus?” Mark said as he poured. If Kimi was going to be blunt and make him uncomfortable, he wasn’t going to be outdone. When he was done pouring, Kimi grabbed the glass and started drinking from it, giving a little chuckle at Mark’s surprised face.

 

Some time later, Mark was pretty smashed. There was no way he would be driving home, and he was drunk enough that he didn’t particularly care. He and Kimi shared a dry, cutting sense of humor that went very well with a few glasses of rum, and Mark had found himself actually feeling better when going through his shit in this light-hearted way. Kimi seemingly felt the same, freely sharing that his ex was on him about selling the downstairs part of the bar to her – they had been talking about it while they were married, which was why the place was half-renovated.

“She wanted to make some kind of fucking wine bar for old ladies,” Kimi said, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

Still, he had gotten the premises split up, meaning there were two separate contracts and, legally speaking, two separate businesses in the house. That also meant that since they had divorced before she could purchase her part, Kimi was stuck with two facilities, and two separate tax claims. Her lawyer was saying that since it was agreed upon, Kimi had to sell her the place regardless. So far, Kimi had gotten out of it by claiming he had a buyer on the line for it, but that nothing was finalized yet.

“She is going to win anyway because I can’t sell to anyone because I want to keep the basement but I can’t keep paying the double bills.”

Mark felt safe to talk about his financial trouble too, and being worried about Fernando finding out and dumping him. When he said this, Kimi snorted derisively.

“If he dumps you for that he’s a bigger asshole than I thought,” he drained the last mouthful out of his glass. “And I think he’s a pretty big fucking asshole.”

Mark had to laugh.

“He can afford you,” Kimi said with a grin, making Mark laugh even harder.

 

“What about you and Seb then?” Mark asked some time later, when the contents of the bottle had crept even lower. Kimi shrugged.

“Long time ago,” he said. Mark kept quiet, already having figured out that despite Kimi being more talkative under the influence of alcohol, it was the best way of keeping him talking.

“He was just a kid when I won the thing and he knew me from then,” he went on after a little while. “Then I had my accident and got the bar and Seb was hanging around for a bit and...” he waved his hands to indicate one thing leading to another. Mark nodded.

“He likes the fighters, when they win,” Kimi said. Mark laughed again.

“Only one of the many reasons I’ll never have to worry about him, mate!”

 

Their talking moved from the kitchen to the couch and then over to the bed. Kimi wouldn’t let Mark drive in his condition, and said that it was no problem for him to sleep on the couch. He claimed that “company” often did. What he meant by that Mark could only guess, and despite him saying it they still ended up in bed together. With the lights off, Kimi took hold of Mark’s chin and guided him to turn his head, meeting his lips with a sloppy kiss.

“I was just checking,” Kimi said when he released him, patting him on the cheek in an almost patronizing way. “Just checking.”

Mark leaned over and kissed him again, letting his hand roam down under the covers to make sure Kimi couldn’t misinterpret his meaning. When he was met with a very pleased moan, he shifted and put his arm around him. Pulling him closer, he could feel the remnants of his accident; Kimi’s boxing career had been ended by a fight over money in an underground establishment much like his own, where he’d been injured to the point of needing critical surgery. Scars crisscrossed over his back and Mark did his best to avoid touching them.

“Hey,” Kimi suddenly said, moving away from him a little bit. Mark couldn’t really see him in the dark, but stopped touching him. He’d been very sure they were on the same page.

“This is just fucking and nothing else,” Kimi said. Mark couldn’t help but let out a single bark of laughter. “Nothing else,” Kimi repeated like he hadn’t seen the humor at all.

“Alright, then let’s get one thing straight,” Mark said, moving closer again, bringing his hand down to stroke Kimi more intimately. “ _I’m_ fucking _you_.”

This time, Kimi laughed too.


	8. Chapter 8 - Thursday

_Thursday_

The weekend after Mark’s unplanned sleepover at Kimi’s had been quite busy. He’d left Kimi’s after drinking copious amounts of strong coffee and headed straight to work, where Jarno had sighed at his untidy appearance and Sebastian had eyed him like he was trying to read the fine print. Mark hadn’t cared. A lot of things had fallen into place.

He’d called Fernando and arranged for them to meet over the weekend, and in the interest of keeping it comfortable for his own sake, he’d invited him to his home. Fernando had eyed the apartment with some hesitance when he came in, and Mark assumed his own house was a bit more lavish. He’d still taken the bull by the horns and come clean about his finances, and for the first time in his life actually given voice to the fact that he was ashamed. For a second he’d been afraid that Fernando would just get up and leave. Then Fernando had put his own hand on top of Mark’s with a smile.

“That is all there is?”

“I’m... not sure I understand?” Mark had said. Fernando’s smile had gotten even bigger, and he had taken hold of Mark’s hand with both of his own.

“Was thinking you were going to end... things, this thing, if you were...” he had stopped talking, looking at Mark with big, serious eyes. Then he had leant in and kissed him.

“You are much more worth to me than a little money,” Fernando said. “Am sorry if it is too early to be saying, but... I really like you, Mark.”

Mark had breathed a huge sigh of relief and assured Fernando he felt the same way.

 

When he arrived at the bar he had found Fernando already there, standing next to a taller man who Mark didn’t recognize. It always felt a little strange approaching someone who was fully dressed when wearing shorts and a hoodie, but Fernando smiled warmly at him as soon as he spotted him.

“Mark, hi!” he said, shaking his hand. “This is Jenson, he works in the company.”

The man smiled and shook Mark’s hand too.

“Is wanting to fight and I was thinking maybe you..?” Fernando said, giving Mark a soft look. Mark realized he was being asked to do him a favor.

“You have experience?” Mark asked, looking at him a little more closely. They were about even in height, but Jenson looked like he had a bit more muscle on him. Was everyone at Fernando’s job a fucking gym-rat?

“With boxing? No,” he said, grinning. “I run and bike... and lift some weights, that’s it.”

“You bike?” Mark said, his eyebrows going up.

“Yeah, I do triathlons.” He seemed proud. Mark could understand why; triathlons were not for the faint of heart.

“So, Mark, would you be okay with showing me the ropes?”

“I can show you the mat too, if you like”, Mark joked, and Jenson laughed. When he left for the changing room, Fernando patted Mark’s arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Thank you. Do not trust the others to not give him a hard time, is strong but only knows just the basic...” he mimed a couple of punches.

“Just let me get this right, you _are_ okay with me beating him?”

Fernando laughed.

“Oh yes, it will help, is very over-confident.”

 

Mark got them signed up with Kimi, who said as little as ever about it and looked at Jenson like he was from another planet when the man reached out his hand to say hello. To his credit Jenson didn’t seem fazed but simply stood off to the side to watch a couple of fights with Mark and Fernando, and climbed into the ring without further comment when it was their turn.

There was hope for Jenson, Mark quickly concluded. He had some basic footwork, and he seemed to kind of know how to keep his guard, but his punches were poorly aimed and as such, he didn’t use his strength very well. Mark let him land a couple of jabs before getting him back, and had to admit it gave him great satisfaction to see the way Jenson’s eyes got wide when the blows landed.

“Bloody hell,” he heard him mutter. Then he adjusted his stance, trying to copy Mark. Good lad, Mark thought.

It felt exceedingly good to get a solid practice fight in, even if it was against a complete novice. At the end of the first round Mark had worked up a good sweat, and probably thanks to adrenaline he was feeling less sore from training. When the bell rung Jenson took a skip out of his own corner, keeping his right up and giving Mark a jab with his left, going in much too close. To make him aware of this mistake, Mark pulled a few short body blows, left, right, left, which soon had Jenson backing off. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. He had forgotten the thrill of the fight itself, rather than the thrill of worrying about losing. He felt great.

Not long after that, he slipped a wild left hook of Jenson’s and landed two quick jabs to the head. It wasn’t enough to knock Jenson out, but it caught him off guard. He took a stumbling step back, tripped, and landed on his ass. The bell rang.

Mark helped him get back up, and to his immense relief Jenson was actually laughing.

“That was something else mate!” he laughed, patting Mark hard on the shoulder. “That was amazing!”

Mark couldn’t help but laugh with him, helping him out of the ring.

“Hey,” someone said beside him when he was about to follow Jenson, still beaming, and Fernando, snickering at the look on his workmate’s face, to the little table in the back. It was Kimi.

“You finally won one so you finally get some money,” he said with a little smirk. He handed Mark two hundreds.

“Two hundred for beating a complete rookie?” Mark said, stunned.

“Nah,” Kimi said, scratching the back of his neck. “One hundred for beating the rookie and one hundred because Seb betted that you would not.”

 

They spent the rest of the night watching fights and talking. Mark took it upon himself to introduce Jenson around, but it was hardly necessary; he seemed thoroughly excited by this new environment and happily started up conversations with all the others who came to sit at their table over the course of the night.

“Is he always like this?” Mark asked Fernando discreetly as he watched Jenson, Sergio, and Felipe laughing about something over where Kimi kept the beer he sold on fight nights. Fernando nodded.

“Yes, is always very...” he searched for the right words, “talking? Social, you know? Is great, when we work together he can be friendly and talking, and I can be serious and business. We make a good team.”

“I bet you do,” Mark said, looking at the ring again. Fernando snickered.

“Are you jealous?”

“No way,” Mark said, putting all the confidence he could into the statement. “You spend your working hours with him and yet you two don’t seem to have _that_ kind of history, whereas we...” Fernando interrupted him.

“I saw you here and wanted you,” he said simply. Mark nearly choked on his drink.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

Fernando looked a little confused.

“Beat..?”

“You don’t mince words.” It didn’t help. “You say what you mean and you do what you want.” Fernando laughed.

“Of course! Is no good waiting for things to happen!”

Mark smiled, but had to think about things for a bit. He’d been guilty, many times in the past, of just waiting, thinking things would work themselves out. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

 

“Hey, where’d the bookie go?” Jenson said when he came back to the table with another beer.

“Seb? Why?”

Jenson shrugged. “I was hoping to get his number, he was kind of cute. I’ll get him next Thursday.”

Fernando shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Are hopeless.”

“You know what,” Mark said, patting Jenson on the arm. “I’ve got his number, I’ll give it to you.”

The least he could do about Sebastian giving his number to someone without asking was return the favor. When he had changed, he took out his phone and shared Seb’s number with Jenson, who happily added it to his own phone. Fernando shook his head at the both of them again.

“Hopeless.”

Mark just laughed. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.


	9. Chapter 9 - Thursday

_Thursday_

Mark’s hands were shaking as he dialed Jarno’s number to call in sick for the first time in nearly three years. He hoped his fake-hoarse voice would be convincing enough to not invite questions, and while Jarno was definitely disappointed he didn’t ask Mark to try to ‘tough it out’ or anything like it. When he had hung up, Mark composed a quick message to Seb while heading for the door.

_“Done. Will text later. Remember to not use phone.”_

He put his phone back in his pocket and got the bike down from the hooks. He really hoped he wouldn’t die of a heart attack on the way over.

 

The night before Sebastian had called Mark, which was definitely out of the ordinary. Mark had, at first, not been too sure about answering the phone at all; he’d just finished training with Minttu and the ladies, and was quite tired.

Sebastian had sounded like he was in an absolute panic.

“Mark, the police, they’re bringing the police, he’s a cop!”

“What? Seb, slow down.”

“Toto!” Sebastian had said, no slower than before. He had sounded out of breath, like he was moving quickly to get somewhere. “Toto, he’s a cop, he used to be a cop, Nico said...”

“Hang on, who?”

A frustrated growl had come from the other side of the call, and Mark had briefly wondered how Seb could possibly have expected him to gain any kind of sensible information from what he had said so far.

“Toto, the dark haired guy who Kimi hates.”

“Yeah?” Mark had said, remembering the face of the tired-looking man who never placed bets or fought, and who seemed to disappear whenever someone paid him the slightest attention.

“He’s a _cop_.”

Mark’s brain had ground to a halt.

“... how do you know that?” he’d finally asked after listening to Seb’s hurried breaths for a few seconds. Without thinking, he had started pacing too.

“Nico, not Hulk, the other one, the one who...”

“The pretty blond you’ve been getting on with?”

“He works for the police, he recognized him,” Seb had rushed out. Apparently he’d been stressed enough by the situation that comments on his activities with some of the boxers were unimportant. “Toto isn’t a cop, he was kicked out, suspended, he did something stupid, but he’s trying to set up a... thing, the police, at the bar, tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Nico saw the papers, he put in a... a thing, he reported seeing it, so they’re coming to check if there are fights! What are we going to do?”

Strangely, Sebastian’s apparent panic had made Mark feel calm and disconnected. He had given it a split-second of thought.

“Do you have a phone that doesn’t have your name on it?”

“Of course.” Even in this state, Seb could apparently be quite mocking. Mark had ignored it.

“Then use that to get the message out to as many people as you can. No fights tomorrow. Have people call each other. I can handle Fernando, I don’t have the number for a lot of the others...”

“But the police...”

“I’ll get in touch with Kimi, I have an idea. Once you’ve contacted everyone, get rid of their numbers from your usual phone.”

“... alright,” Sebastian had said, and Mark had never heard him sound so insecure. He had hung up, and started his part of his plan by calling Fernando, and then he started trying to get a hold of Kimi.

 

Mark kept his head down and his legs moving, despite feeling like they might come off from all this activity. He was unaccustomed to biking, especially long distances, and the traffic felt closer than ever as he zoomed down another street, praying for a green light, taking the corner sharply and forcing his legs to keep moving, just keep moving. He skidded to a halt in the parking lot outside the bar and stumbled when his feet hit the ground.

 

Kimi hadn’t answered his phone. Mark had been calling all night, but at first it had just rang and rang, and then he had started getting a message from the provider that the number he had dialed could not be reached. He considered going back to the pub but chances were it was actually open on Wednesday nights, and as far as he knew Kimi was alone. What would he be able to do about anything in this situation?

So he had waited, and called back time and time again, always facing the same message. Then finally a text from Seb had come through.

_“Kimi’s tomorrow at five.”_

 

The bar was as closed as it ever was on Thursdays, and Mark peered in through the window up front before going to the back door. He pounded on it.

Nothing happened.

He started another lap of the place, thinking it was a relief that there were no cars in the lot yet; so far, people had gotten the message. Then he started looking around, figuring he might find some rocks or something to throw at the windows. Deciding to give it one more try, he went down the stairs and pounded on the back door again. This time, the lock clicked, and Kimi opened the door.

“Oh thank fuck mate!” Mark exclaimed. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling all night, Seb said-”

“I know what he said, come inside,” Kimi said gruffly, basically pulling Mark in through the door. “Get changed, hurry up.”

 

While he knew the plan they had set up, Mark had to admit he was nervous. He got undressed and put on his shorts and wrappings. He didn’t know if he’d need his mouthguard, so instead of locking his things up and leaving his bag in the changing room he took it with him into the main room.

It felt a lot bigger now that there was just the two of them there. Their sneakers scraped against the rough floor and Mark had never really thought about how little sound came in from outside. When there were fights going on it was so noisy indoors he wouldn’t have expected to hear anything anyway – and during the evenings the whole neighborhood was quiet. But there had been cars on the streets outside when he’d arrived and yet he could hear nothing.

He looked up and startled. He hadn’t noticed Kimi getting changed over by his usual table.

“I thought we were just going to... wait?”

“Waiting is going to look like we know something was coming,” Kimi said, pulling his shorts up. He hadn’t wrapped up, but was holding a pair of punch mitts. “Come on,” he said, climbing into the ring. Mark followed him up.

If it felt strange to be in the room when nobody else was there, it felt absurd to be in the ring when there were no people and no other noise.

“Stretch and warm up a bit and when you feel ready we can do some jabs,” Kimi droned, putting his mitts down and bending forward, stretching his back. He rolled up slowly, stretching his arms as he went. Mark stood watching for a little while, but then decided to follow suit.

 

When he was limbered up Kimi put on the punch mitts and got in front of him.

“Okay give me one, one two,” he said, pointing to Mark’s left arm and then his right. Mark got into position, holding his guard, and then struck out for the gloves.

The first two jabs hit just fine, but on the third, Kimi slipped a little to the left, and then reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

“When you start preparing to make your right you drop the guard,” he said, still keeping his mitts up. “Do it again and don’t let me hit you this time.”

Mark couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Kimi dropped his guard and stood up straight.

“Look this was your idea and it’s a good idea, but we might as well be using the time to learn something so maybe you could win a few more fights.”

“Alright, alright, sorry.” Mark started stepping back into position, but had to stop. “Look, mate... aren’t you even a little bit nervous about... all this?” He tried to stop himself from asking but couldn’t hold it in anymore. It _had_ been his idea to do this, but now that everything was set in motion he couldn’t help but feel it was pretty stupid. Dangerous, in fact.

Kimi smirked.

“What do you want me to be nervous about when we’re just training?”

Strangely, the statement made Mark feel a fair bit calmer. He got back into position and got a nod from Kimi to keep going. The annoying taps, which meant he had left his guard too low or wasn’t keeping enough of an eye on his opponent, found their way onto his shoulders, his arms, his side, and a few times onto his jaw. It took him a fair few tries, but soon enough he managed to land all three jabs and keep Kimi from hitting him.

They had been at it for a long enough time that Mark was quite sweaty by the time he heard someone knocking on the back door.

“We didn’t hear anything,” Kimi growled, punishing his lapse in concentration with a harder tap than before, right on the forehead. Mark’s eyebrows knitted and he sunk back behind his guard. They ignored two more rounds of increasingly loud pounding on the door before they both clearly heard the creak of the hinges. Mark held his breath in wait, but kept going.

One, one two.

One, one two.

One, one two.

They didn’t stop until the door to the main room opened and four policemen stepped inside.


	10. Chapter 10 - Thursday

_Six months later_

_Thursday_

 

“Mark, are you done soon? We need to go or we are going to be late.” Fernando’s voice faded as he walked into the bedroom.

“We won’t be _late,_ Nando,” Mark called from the office. “We’re on the list, it’ll be fine.”

He read through the last paragraph on the screen one more time and decided it would have to do for now. His assignment was coming along nicely and he’d be done well before the deadline. The calendar on the wall, with all its colorful lines marking who would be doing what and when, showed another completely blank Thursday. They both liked to keep their schedules clear as much as possible for those days.

“Still do not want to be late,” Fernando said, coming into the room. He put his arms around Mark and kissed him on the head. “You will finish in time?”

“Yeah it’s looking good.” He kissed Fernando’s arm. “Well, _I_ think it’s looking good, I’m gonna turn it in and then we’ll see how good it really is.”

“Am sure you will get a good grade on it,” Fernando beamed, “you are very smart.”

Mark saved his assignment and shut the computer down, going to get his backpack.

“Have already packed!” Fernando called. Mark could hear him filling up their water bottles in the kitchen now.

It struck him sometimes how different life in this apartment was. There was no being quiet, being careful, worrying that closing the fridge door too firmly would bring down the rage of a neighbor or two. Fernando’s building was quiet and neat, with a nice climate control system and a separate space in the basement garage where they could keep their bikes. Mark knew he had very much traded up, but he would never have pressured Fernando into letting him move in. It was rather at Fernando’s insistence they had finally gone ahead and joined their households.

“Why are you so eager to get going?”

“Has just...” his boyfriend hesitated with a sigh. “Has been a hard day at work, and is too cold to take the bikes. Just need to work out a little.”

Mark smiled at him. He was looking forward to tonight as well, obviously, but Fernando was right. It was the first day of the year when the streets were much too slippery for the bikes to be considered, and last week Fernando had been away on business – of course he was hankering to get his blood pumping and his muscles working.

“If you’re just after a workout we could stay in tonight,” Mark said, the idea sudden and quite tempting. He took advantage of being that much taller, and put his arms over Fernando’s shoulders. It had been six months and while he knew they had moved in together a little earlier than some others might think reasonable, he had never felt more in love. They didn’t wear and grate on each other with their presence. It felt natural to be together; Fernando felt like home.

“There are a lot of ways of getting a workout...” he murmured in Fernando’s ear. Fernando started laughing and put the water bottles down.

“I will make you a bet,” he said, turning in Mark’s arms. “I will win my fight, and you are mine.”

“I’m already yours, mate,” Mark chuckled.

“No, mine, for the whole night, so I can do whatever I want with you.”

“Really?” Mark knew it was, at least in part, a tease, but it was damn effective. “And what if I win mine?”

“Then all of this,” Fernando said, slipping out of his grip and indicating himself as if he were trying to sell his clothes, “is yours.”

“You drive a really hard bargain, Mr. Alonso.” Mark grinned and kissed him.

“Is a very fair bargain, Mr. Webber.”

 

They were let in by Marcus, who smiled and nodded at them in greeting. Mark and Fernando had both changed at home and only needed the changing room to get out of their pants and jackets.

While he had started getting used to it, the main room was unrecognizable from the first time Mark had seen it. Since Minttu had purchased it, there was a new floor, pleasantly springy, which insulated against both noise and impacts. The paneling had been finished and the walls had been painted a nice light blue. New lights had been installed, giving the whole hall a pleasant light that made it bright but not glaring. The boxing ring was still there, but Kimi’s old equipment had been moved to the back of the hall and joined by some racks of free weights as well as several exercise machines.

They went over to check in at the table at the side of the ring where Kimi and Seb could be found as always.

“And how are my two favorite shut-ins?” Jenson said in greeting, coming over when he saw them.

“Are you on the list already?” Fernando asked, forgoing the pleasantries.

“Yeah,” Jenson laughed, “couldn’t risk getting paired up with either of you two! I’m going to give Sergio a lesson in a little bit, be sure to bet on me.”

They talked until Jenson was called to the ring. Funnily enough, Mark noticed how Kimi made sure to gather up the roster and the odds-sheet, keeping them out of reach of Sebastian. He chuckled to himself. Seb was softer these days, happier, but obviously still not entirely trustworthy.

 

The fight commenced and Fernando and Mark made the rounds, saying hi to people. The participants were about the same as before, although some people had dropped off in the two-month absence when Kimi was settling all the legal matters that had come about as a result of the raid on his alleged underground boxing club.

It had all worked out in the end. The policemen who had shown up, acting on an ‘anonymous tip’ from their suspended colleague, hadn’t found any proof of what he had claimed went on there. No crowd of drunken men, yelling at bare-knuckle boxers, no gambling, no drugs, nothing. They had fined Kimi for keeping some of his stock in what basically equated to an unsafe space, but a few cases of beer didn’t get him anything beyond a fine. He had also shown a great desire to comply with all the court’s suggestions, and could readily show documentation that the room had been sold to an acquaintance of his who was intending to turn it into a members-only gym.

 

Jenson had gotten much better at boxing since Mark had first faced off against him, but then again so had Mark. Living with Fernando meant healthier food and a steady schedule of exercise and training. Fernando excused it with simply wanting to ‘be up against the best’, but he had made very clear, in more private moments, that there were other benefits to the increased strength and stamina that he quite enjoyed.

The sounds from the ring were helping to fire him up, and Mark stopped to look at the fight and stretch a little. Much like Jenson, Sergio had gotten better with time and practice, but he was still going for some pretty wild swipes. Jenson slipped him easily, dancing out of the way. A few blows still connected though, and before Sergio finally hit the mat in the beginning of the third round, Jenson was bleeding from a split lip.

“He has gotten a lot better but he is still a fucking suit,” a flat voice said next to Mark, who grinned at Kimi.

“Are you jealous, or do you just like watching?” he countered, and Kimi made a sound which could be either a laugh or a little cough.

“Someone had to be good enough sometime,” he said, looking on as Jenson got his winnings from Paul and then went to sit down on one of the benches. He was joined almost instantly by Sebastian, who, without hesitation, sat down on his lap and started dabbing at his lip with a wet towel.

“It’s just too bad it had to be a fucking suit,” Kimi finished with a wink. Mark laughed. He knew Kimi was really happy for Seb, even though the relationship meant he had to keep the bookie out of some of the bets. Fernando was still kicking Mark’s ass in the ring most of the time, but his odds were getting better all the time. While it may not be typical, Mark still considered himself as having a fairly quiet life.

He was very happy.

 

\- The End -


End file.
